


Red on purple on white

by Beweme



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Blood, Fluff and Angst, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Serious Injuries, based on art, not really but it can be read like that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:07:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29160162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beweme/pseuds/Beweme
Summary: Wilson finds a bloody winter coat and gets very worried.
Relationships: Maxwell & Wilson (Don't Starve), Maxwell/Wilson (Don't Starve)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Basically I drew a picture and decided to write something short based on it, which I usually never do in that order, so it was kind of fun practice. That's pretty much the only reason for this lol.
> 
> The art is in the second chapter.

Wilson couldn't tear his eyes away from the bloody, ripped winter coat laying on the frosty ground. It was starting to slowly get covered by the small snowflakes falling from the sky, the little white flakes turning red when they landed on the dirty fabric.

There was no body, no sign of the man. Only his destroyed winter coat and the little puddles of blood that led a trail away from the field and into the forest. So much blood. Too much blood.

Wilson couldn't keep away the cold horrifying feeling rising from his gut, taking over and spreading all around, the tightening feeling in his chest. He dropped on his knees, and carefully reached to touch the piece of clothing, carefully grasped it between his fingers, carefully pulled it close and pressed it against himself.

He couldn't remember what the last words between them had been. Had they fought? Had they laughed? Had they even said anything worthwhile before Maxwell had left to gather resources?

Wilson felt the warm tears starting to take a form, and he thrust his eyes close and bit his teeth together, fighting against the need to burst out and cry. Maxwell had no effigy, he had no life giving amulet with him, not that Wilson knew of. He hoped there was a touch stone, a touchstone nearby, or that Maxwell had at least turned into a ghost instead of waking up in different, strange and foreign world, alone and away from Wilson.

He cracked his eyes open, licking his lips and sniffing loudly. The trail of blood lead somewhere, so Maxwell had not died here. There was a chance. Wilson got back on his knees and clutched the torn cloak tight. There was still a chance that Maxwell was alive.

But there was so much blood.

But there was a chance.

But there was so much blood, and Maxwell was so frail, and there was _too_ much blood and it was freezing out here and if he left searching, would he find the mangled, cold and lifeless body of someone he loved and did he want to really see the glossy eyes staring at nothing and the pale flesh being torn apart and bathed in his life-essence that had already spilled all over the ground-

Wilson shook his head at took a deep breath.

Not allowing himself to get stuck on that loop of despair, not allowing himself to crumble down and give up when there was still a chance, when the evidence wasn't solid and clear and in front of his eyes, he took a step, then another, until he eventually remembered how to walk without his knees trembling and wanting to collapse from the shock and fear, as Wilson started to follow the trail away from the big, messy scene that smelled like iron.

There wasn't enough snow to see any footsteps, but there were marks that could very well be made by someone wearing fancy yet long-ruined shoes that the owner liked to remind had cost him more than Wilson's whole lab equipment in his old house. He snorted out an ugly sound, half sob and half laughter, really just wishing from the bottom of his heart that he would get to hear Maxwell making such a snobby and stupid arguments even as his clothes were not even worth a penny in their current state.

Silently he wondered what had happened. Was it deerclops? A time for the hound attack? The hunting Mac Tusks? In some way he didn't want to even know, understanding it might make him feel even worse, spark some bitterness and hate he didn't need more than he already had nested inside him... But knowing could surely lessen the pain. It might make him bitter, but it would give him closure, give him a piece of mind of Knowing. 

Suddenly a sound of small, weary moan made Wilson halt, stop to listen. A whine, a small cry. It seemed to have came from where the path of blood was leading him. Maxwell sure didn't sound like that, and if he did, well then Wilson had never heard him made such a noise before. He slowly started to creep closer, approaching with cautious steps. From behind the trees and bushes he could already see the long, slender legs, the familiar color and pattern of the fabric of the suit pants, and the images of the worst case scenarios flashed through his head, the terror of walking closer and seeing the corpse of someone he could never speak with again, of someone who couldn't hold him and sleep next to him and be there when he needed him the most...

And then he walked into the view of the other man, and besides laying down on the ground, huddling his arms to his body and breathing heavily under the large wound in the chest, Maxwell rose his gaze up and smirked at him. Wilson's legs gave up again as he kept grasping the winter coat as if Maxwell would disappear the second he let go.

He tried to speak, but the second the opened his mouth he could only weep out relieved breaths and sobs, when he reached his hand out and cupped Maxwell's cheek, and the other man leaned into his warm hand and huffed an exhausted inhale, closing his eyes.

"You're alive" Wilson heaved out a weak laughter.

"A brilliant observation..."

Wilson just laughed again, feeling the sense of immediate terror draining out, leaving only a small concern and worry behind, giving him more air to breathe, more confidence to stay calm and collected. Maxwell was alive. He was alive and he was well enough to shoot dumb insults at him, everything was fine.

Maxwell laughed, too, although much more tiredly, and glanced at Wilson.

"Deerclops, was messing around a pig village, I happened to be close by... wasn't a good idea to go check it out..."

Maxwell's hand rested on the large, gaping wound that run along his chest and across his side, but it didn't seem lethal, thank the heavens. Wilson helped the man sit up and smiled wearily.

"Don't scare me like that again, okay? I was really worried..."

"Oh, you care about me... that's... sweet.." Maxwell muttered and leaned his head on Wilson's shoulder, and the younger man wasn't sure if it was an attempt of a 'haha you like me' joke, or if Maxwell, even after all this time and the scientist's obvious feelings for him, had gotten it in his head that Wilson wouldn't care. The young man pulled the ruined coat over Maxwell and wrapped his hands around him, squeezing tight.

"Yeah..." he mumbled and pressed a swift kiss on the older man's temple, closing his eyes and running fingers on his hair "Please don't... Don't. Don't do things like this-" The death was never permanent here, but it was always so terrifying to face anyway, it was always so scary. And Maxwell was not build up to survive an encounter with creatures like deerclops or bearger, he had such low chances to survive something like that...

Wilson pressed the man closer, the warm breaths huffing against his neck, the steady and low heartbeat bumping inside the man who leaned on him and allowed himself to be held like this.

... But, there was a chance. It was enough. Wilson opened his eyes and watched the small snowflakes melt into the dirty, dark purple cloth around his partner, and he squeezed the man even tighter. A weak hand rose up, knuckles running through his cheek, fingers lightly grasping his hair.

"It's fine Wilson. I'm just cold... I'm just a bit... a bit cold."

Wilson sniffed and looked up in the sky. The forest was silent. The warm body in his arms getting colder, the heartbeat quieting down after every beat. He exhaled a puff of foggy air, grasping the man inside his arms and feeling the cold getting colder.

"I'm gonna take you back to the camp. I'm gonna patch you up and treat your injuries. I'm gonna give you food and put you inside the fur roll and take care of you. It's okay, it won't be cold for long, I'm gonna warm you up. I'm not gonna let you die."

Maxwell bat his eyes slowly, a weak smile on his lips.

"Your voice is warm..."

A sentence that hardly made sense, a delusional words from the blood loss, but Maxwell was still smiling and grasping Wilson's hair, and Wilson pressed him closer and hugged him tight, felt up his body and breathed in his scent and tasted his skin with a small kiss. He wouldn't let it end like this.

"I'm... Do you think... Am I going to-"

"No, no you're not, you're not going to die. You'll be fine, you'll be okay. I'm going to take care of you, it's all going to be okay." Wilson whispered, petting Maxwell's hair with shaking hand, panic only barely withheld by his determination. It was going to be fine. As long as Maxwell was breathing, there was a chance, it was going to be fine.

A weak laughter escaped from the trembling lips that pressed against his shoulder.

"You have... you always did have... such a warm face when you... when you smile..."

Wilson bit his lip and whimpered out a quiet sound, slowly pulling Maxwell up and hoisting him on his arms. The man winced from the pain when he was moved around, but eventually just went limp and let his head fall back on Wilson's shoulder.

"Hang in there buddy, it's going to be fine. We'll get through this, we always pull through together."

There was a short, breathy and feeble chuckle from the thin man.

"No, you always... You will always pull through, without. You never needed... you always got through everything, even when I..."

"Heyy, it's fine... Save your strength, don't speak more than you have to. I will take care of you."

He felt the hand on his hair falling down, resting over his shoulder, and the man it belonged to snuggling his other shoulder until he fell limp on his arms. Wilson bit his lip and, once more, squeezed Maxwell tight, as he started to make his way back to the camp, following the bloodstains that started to get covered under the snow that melted over them, slowly building up and smearing the red to the lightening pinkish mess.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Me: Ok this looks good I think it's ready.  
> That little goblin part of my brain: Blood... Put there blood.


End file.
